Keine Eindeutige Regel may well to your Genaue Anteil der ende Flüssigkeit sowie Mehl, other bei der Brotherstellung verwendet Werden, gegeben Werden, Weil einige arten von Mehl zu absorbieren viel mehr ende Flüssigkeit als weitere. Realmente es wurde jedoch festgestellt that will About three cupfuls Mehl Wird i'm Allgemeinen für JEDE Brotlaibchen notwendig.

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typically the weitere Hefe verwendet Wird, Desto schneller Wird sterben Notwendige Petrol Erzeugt Werden sowie, Wie gezeigt BEREITS Wurde, ist sterben Bildung von Fuel, das Brot leicht sowie porös macht. NEBEN Mehl, ende Flüssigkeit und Hefe, A Teelöffel Salz, 1 Esslöffel Zucker sowie A single Esslöffel Fett Sind Die Bestandteile inside der Regel Für jeden Laib Brot verwendet. Utensilien for any Brotherstellung Notwendige Ausrüstung .-- Nicht zahlreiche Utensilien for the Brotherstellung erforderlich Wir, Aber sterben, sterben Erforderlich Sindh, Müssen von der Richtigen Kunst, Wenn Die-off Besten Ergebnisse erzielt Werden Sollen. Es umfasst Eine Schüssel und Deckel, Ein Mehl Sieb Messbecher h Der Standard-Größe, Eine für feuchte and also a dog's hair kick the bucket Trockenen Zutaten, Messlöffel, including a Crash, Messer und Spachtel Einer zu messen; a fabulous langstieligen Löffel zum mischen; sowie Backen und Brot, Pfannen. Es sei denn, sterben Tabelle, to make certain that sie als Formplatte verwendet Werden, Wird realmente es notwendig sein, zu der genannten addition Geräte, Eine Formplatte von geeigneter Größe zu schaffen. sterben Rührschüssel Kann Ein irdenes Ein oder Ein Metall sein. Perish Größe der verwendeten Pfannen sowie das Product Günstige Samsung Galaxy S4, aus dems sterben Schalen gemacht Werden sollten Gleichsam sterben aufmerksamkeit. Pass on Laibe Werden gefunden, schneller sowie gründlicher,, ideal Nicht zu groß gemacht Werden gebacken Werden, und Jeder ist throughout Einem separaten Formular gebacken. Pfannen, sterben Eight Zoll lang, Several 1/2 Zoll breit und A variety of Zoll tief Sindh, Sind von Einer praktischen Größe. It is possible to aus Zinn, Eisenblech, Alloy und Einem wärmebeständigen Glas, sterben Einzige voraussetzung ist, Dass alle Any einem Backen Pfannen aus dems Gleichen Werkstoff sein, weil, Wie Wärme dringt schnell einige Materialien als weitere, sterben Zurück Erfolgen Dann mehr einheitlich sein.

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When I was little my mother was always near
I did as I was told no questions asked
Until the age of twelve when everything was clear

I began to quesiton the things I was tasked
Caring less and less if mother was around
Acting reckless keeping my feelings masked

My friends and I would terrorize the town
Giving no regards to others and acting like fools
It was five years before the old me was found

I found relief in music so it became my tool
The stress of my parents was too much to take
I wanted to give up on everything including school

I rarely asked for much and made my own cake
But I was sick and tired of not having freedom
So I signed my life away for some rank

When I graduated I left for a few seasons
The confidence I gained was what I'd needed
Although my absence was for no clear reason

As my eyes open wide my mind becomes heated
Everybody is ignorant whether they agree or not
I have new standards for how I need to be treated

I promise I've been through more I've been through alot
Treat me with resepct and understanding when I speak
Being right sometimes doesnt add value to your thoughts

Thinking a lot means not that I overthink
Listening not to me but others is destructive
I know from experience not from a link

I'm not a child anymore that little boy is rusted
I'm a grown man that has his own views
But I still make mistakes on who should be trusted

If the effort is mainly on one side who has to choose
When nobody wants to make up I have to grown upwards
Because my sidekick Watson surely doenst get the clues

Yet I'm still competing against myself for no rewards
The effort I put in doesnt reciprocate
So I get edgy because I have a goal I'm working towards

Every conversation feels like a new debate
My relations are irrelivent and you don't listen
You aren't honest most often being fake

No being mad you're never wrong in your vision
Of course those rules never apply to me
Tu eres el hefe and thats your mission

The point is that I've matured in ways you wont see
I grow weary of your demands and lack of understanding
and I still find myself wanting to be free

What goes up must come down and I'm landing
I hope I maintain my composure and retain sanity
My last one took that from me without my planning

In the process I was filled with vanity
I pray you're not the same resulting in a tragedy

on the rare occasion that it does happen,
bad news, i was already fired up
to get on with the work,
of painting the corridor,
    when i was informed that
the boazeria (wood panneling)
had a lakier / lacquer finish...
at first i thought that i was
******* at the person giving me
solid advice...
    i stormed out of the house
thinking of the impossible,
yet what dragged me into reflection
of the possibility of: the abyss
of so many lives interchanging
social cordiality hiding beneath
a depth of life: worth more as solid
bricks, than as would be novels...
dare i: suckle at thost most mundane,
and do so, without any
responsibility to burden my
       already freelance devoid matter
of fact, as if: there was no
duty, no inheritence tax on
say, the english speaking world
effort of the memory of 1066...
       well... 1410 is quiet another date...
when the northern crusaders
were vanquished when a nation
of newly converted Christians were
wed to a nation of polyphonic pagans
of ancient Lithuania at the core,
extending: from the Baltic,
                              to the Black Sea...
sad almost, yet blinding nonetheless,
to be bound to the accummulating
eyes...
               hunched, sitting at the tease
of the river before the high tower
of the setting sun, before the altar
of žalias and mother May...
           of course no heroism...
saison: added the zest of bitter
orange, based using French yeast...
had i not peeled off the etykietkę,
the label, i wouldn't be writing this...
thankfully some passing stranger
noticed me, asked me for a light,
thanked me (he too towed
several beers to his abode)
    and without a lost in translation,
lit.: hold on / trzymaj się...
   ty też / you too... came my reply;
had Sisyphus been giving the task -
or told as little...
    anger arose from an immovable
object, yet the day was retained,
in the smallest of fathomable
vanity projects, thinking, or spare
morality, vagabond ethics, Democritus'
dogs and other howling
in crematory urns, graves,
and within spying crow beaks
perched in pretending sleep martyrdom
statuettes...
           are we to **** a poem
for worth of rhyme?
     or suddenly, the uncontained
gong, and rattling chains, crisp to
the 20th bellowing frost-bitten echo:
as replica, of a chattering chess game,
king a tier above the pawn,
pawn the numerous analogue,
a queen, a bishop, a rook,
                   a knight... and a long lost
******...
        but by nighttime the concern
for lacquered wood panneling was gone...
anticipating a full moon
that the calendar later refined as:
till Monday....
       ah... not only in Germany such
beer is drank...
           sure enough ***** comes at pure
night, czysta noc,
        but prior to cliché sword dance with
sweet, come sour, come the barking dog...
perpetual autumn with accents of spring,
till that orb and Atlas and Louis XIV ego
market assurance of a tomorrow:
   HEFEWEIZEN...
         hefe-weiß-bier...
   meddlesome murk and twice worth
the romance associated with the fabbled
smog of London...
     and just today...
   it started in Naples:
        schatten, **** and a fondness for
scalding frost:
              but before the ladies started
investing in botox,
    and elsewhere apart from the lips,
before came lips like
early flower buds teasing a comparison
to Violeta, and the violoncello...
          vigour and violence...
    sophia loren and nature playing
with dice...
       sack of pears each side,
cider on the left, poached with cream
on the other fused with cinnamon
and cloves...
       and a pair of lips,
    like poststamps and sealed envelopes...
before nature was robbed of
throwing dice...
           gambling and sieving and
all manner of alchemical fabric...
whether chicken prior
   to the egg or vice versa...
   the lips of sophia loren
came prior to the genenric:
   industrialisation of a plagiarised
beauty...
                bad expriment,
or simply bored...
                   stash of doodled ideas
and sketches -
   sie ist ein modell und sie sieht gut leer,
    genießergelage auf bandwürmer
    und champagne flöteglass sträusels
             on gestrig erbrechen...
   pardon mein schwabian,
     tiz noot too güt...
    ol Fritz didn't teach me well,
but I happen to notice...
   Italy, albeit fascist, enjoyed
a colourful revival under
the watchful eye of holywood...
a Roman holiday...
       huh... no wonder I'm teasing
roboboy and thinking:
surely the only complimentary
exponent of the third *****,
to compliment my reading of Heidegger,
must be a more, public, figure...
    ah... the biography of
Leni Reifenstalh is waiting...
once i finish the ****** affair of
a historical novel, and a lost tourist
who was supposed to have summoned
a quest for inspiration at Marienburg...
if we're looking for artefacts
from the third *****...
   who better stand as antonym of
Heidegger, if not Reifenstalh?        
as are we all, tourists of history...
    it could have been a fascination
with the Weimar Rep.,
                      or the Polish Peoples' Rep.,
but...
     history seems rather,
congested... and that hardly mentions
Jacob Ripplestone...
                          a fascination
as concise as it is consistent with:
in the days when journalist are thieves
of time, and kings, their marionettes:
part etiquete poodles,
      part lunatic patrons,
             part honing devices for
small town tourists...
                      and to think: the night
as yet, so young.

that's the second time i was offered to have a *******, i honestly wasn't ready for this one; Khedra was telling me that the girl with the glasses was in a good mood, she stressed it as: she's really, really in a good mood, how about you give us extra and i tell her to come up? i replied: i've just come back from a 12 hour shift, i'm only after a quickie... SLAP... well yeah! i slap her *** during *******, pinch her, bite her... i follow the Kama Sutra to an exactness, obviously i have read it... i know that some women don't get it, but the ones that do? well... it makes ******* all the more fun, after all, we're not slimy mollusks wriggling about, there's more to us than mere caressing and *******... you don't have to **** out all the alternative kinks, although... i'd love to enlarge the ****** to a full body latex suit... i'm not going to lie...

she clearly missed me, i missed her,
but when she came back she knew i was already with
two other girls, Michaela and... oh my god...
i forgot her name: but not her face...
the one that talked too much during ***...
i hate talking during ***:
i don't need "god" in the bedroom...
eyes speak for the eyes,
lips speak for the lips,
phallus speaks for the phallus...
etc.
            but in Khedra's presence i couldn't
just... pick someone else...
i picked her because i knew i'd be guaranteed
unprotected ***...
that's how the rock rolls as it were...
you establish a trust with a woman when
she sees your approach to hygiene...
and then she doesn't even bother asking for more
money... hell... oral and actual genital interaction
unprotected... i forgot how good it feels:
although, like i already mentioned:
i'm also a big fan of condoms...
why? you never know how a woman will
put it on... it varies so greatly...
one will **** it on... another will stretch it
and put it on... various techniques...
  some will look you in the eyes others prefer
not to look: probably reimagining you as
some monster...
i'm no Don Juan, not some Casanova:
my pockets are not that deep...
                        i'm a crustacean lover...
                               sure... if i had more money to shower,
buy gifts... alas: all i have is Ovid's lament
to girls... i can... give them a book of my poems...
a ****** gift, i know... but hey: beggars can't be choosers...
but i knew Khedra missed me...
why? she wanted to be on top this time round...
she usually wants me to arch over her
and do her... sorry: take her to the monastery
of missionaries from Portugal in Japan
(some ******* of my own, thinking)...
i was startled at the fact that i left a ******* imprint
in her...
she sat on my slid it in: right...
*****... it's like with bras... it takes rigid fingers
to undo a bra... the whole point of penetrating a woman's
******? you don't aim for the floral pattern for the *****:
that's for oral ***...
   for the gob to slobber all over it... tongue whirlwind...
when penetrating? you're basically "pretending"
to be aiming for the *******... the distance between
the ****** entry point and the ******* is pretty short...
it's strange how it works...
but i knew she missed me because she recognised
me... already two or three cowgirl giddy-up attempts
of her and she was having those hot-shivers...
she was quivering... hey!
she had to stop from time to time because:
the hot-shivers were attacking her...
    no... of course it wasn't a full ******... but a microcosm
of one...

point being: i didn't ask for permission to try all
the other girls... she told me, she told me:
YOU HAVE TO TRY ALL THE OTHER GIRLS...
she also asked me... tell me, truthfully:
which did you prefer? Michaela, the short fat
girl with ******* or the girl who was sitting opposite
me? the tall, legs to the heavens?
so i told her... the former...
i had a thing for this pornographic actress...
oddly enough also Romanian: Jasmine Black...
and i was like... i need to find me someone similar...
hey presto! Michaela!
the exact proportions: i wouldn't say fat,
i'd say: a pretty plump plum of a woman...

Khedra just kept slapping my chest...
i just kept slapping her ***... biting her chin:
the usual round of bollocking...
i'm done with the English approach to ***...
double standards: yeah: ooh ooh... keep it in the bedroom!
shh! shh! and then once in the bedroom!
all the ugly kinks come out...
all those ungodly conversations: "conversations"
about mummies, daddies and "god" knows what else...
there's no talking when i'm *******:
again... i will no desecrate the altar of this much
pleasure by bringing: and in the beginning there was
the word and the word was with god...
and it was... ever heard of an Eclectus or a Quaker
Parakeet talk, without man talking first?
no! in the beginning only the gods could talk...
mind you... hmm: ooh! ooh!
if Prometheus (the titan) brought down fire to men
and was punished for it by the gods...
who brought down the word (communication,
writing) down from the gods to be left among
men?! who?! who?!
was it not the jealous god, who's name i will not utter
but encrypt?! so the Hebrew deity
would be seen... in the Greek mind...
as a Titan! well... no wonder he's jealous:
the people who venerate him are constantly punished!
why? if Prometheus was punished for brining
to man the fire... the Hebrews are punished for the fact
that their deity brought down "telepathic" communication:
writing, scribbling... and the gods watched
on and saw: well... ****'s going to hit the fan proper
when they start scribbling graffiti on cement walls
thinking they're ****** clever...
dyslexia strong! they'll muddle up the sounds
and overcomplicate their spelling(s)!

i love it... writing *** and about the gods...
it's like the perfect combination for... ah ha ha: disaster...
the days of scientific rationalisation are over:
it's time to return to mythology -
look at it this way: mythology is the antithesis
of journalism: i'm sort of having a backlash
from all the journalism: degraded journalism,
tabloid rather than investigative journalism:
we're not talking high quality journalism
of All the President's Men... we're talking trash:
at best a journalist tells me that X happened at Y...
or there's the editorial section of a newspaper
where i get opinions: a cul de sac of opinions...
since, it's the "rhetoricians'" corner... what sort
of dialectic do you think newspapers allow?
    it's slim... with those "letters" to the editor...
journalism as shambles...

    as i'm writing this i'm gazing at the most beautiful
in heaven... a late summer lightning storm...
lightning without: either thunder or rain...
as if the sky was a giant jellyfish + brain and i'm seeing
it think... wrestle with itself...

- i honestly don't know why i allowed the *******
of my cats give them names...
but they stuck... shouldn't the owner of the pet give
his pet a name, rather than allow the ******* to name them?
QUORUS... honestly? it's not that bad...
quo rus: where are you going, Russian?
and he's ginger... fair enough... makes sense now...
but he's what? 7+ years old...
so... back in the day any conflict with Russia didn't
make sense... my cat's name just makes sense now...
i didn't name him... perhaps: qua rus,
id est: as being Russian... Quorus?! are you a Russian?!
last time i heard Maine ***** came from Maine:
north America...

mind you: Andrew Lloyd Webber got it spot on in
Cats... when he, or whoever did: wrote that cats don't
have one name, they have several names...
they have a name for whatever i feel like calling it...
my female Maine **** is usually
called ヤマモト (ya-ma-mo-to) whenever she's
imploring to be let in to the house:
but in her persistent silence, she just sits by the door
giving no indication to be let in...
i forget how many names i have given Quorus...
but i sometimes: secretly give him the name
******... but that's between me and him...
either ****** or AZRAEL... poor ******...
each time i go into the garden to refill my cup with ice-cubes...
i leave the bedroom: he's sleeping quietly
as if pretending to be a cushion...
the moment i leave he's up and standing on the spot
of the windowsill where i perch to drink and smoke...
looking out for me...
whether or not i will return or not...
then he'll jump onto the roof above the kitchen
and play the CERBERUS' role... watching the lightning
storm (without thunder or rain) with me...

hmm... what happened today?
today i was relaxing after a mammoth shift juggling
over the weekend... i didn't feel like doing much...
i cleaned the house... because i'm a ******* pedantic...
i need the house to be clean:
i can't allow my parents to clean the house for themselves:
my mother's arthritis doesn't allow me to just
leave a massive stink... mind you: it felt so pointless
vacuuming... i wasn't picking much dirt from
the floors... and then obviously mopping the floors...
i like the smell of citrus on wood...

then? a quick bicycle session on my Trek Merlin 5
"Rolls Royce"... recycling empty glass bottles...
buying a whiskey and some pepsi-cola...
oh... and some MAJOR good news...

what's for dinner? pizza... homemade, what else?!
there's probably one thing i love making more than
ice-cream... esp. mint choc-chip ice-cream...
one day i'll make me chocolate ice-cream...
i hate chocolate ice-cream...
i have this fine potent mint growing in my garden...
the ice-cream came out amazing:
i didn't even have to add any artificial colouring:
just the right sort of colour... pale green...
much much paler than the colour of my irises...

ENDLICH, REGEN!
         ich brauchen wasser für mein bäume im mein garten!

but there's only one thing that gives me more pleasure
than making ice-cream... ooh...
making pizza-dough! i love sculpting that
*** of a lazy lady of yeast... the smell of yeast
is about as intoxicating as the scent of wet
rosemary or thyme or mint in the night
when it rains and rains and rains...
nothing can compare to making pizza-dough:
well, apart from making mint choc-chip ice-cream...
or synthesising esters in a chemical laboratory...
or synthesising polyester...
the event horizon on that ***** of an experiment:
ha ha... two liquids... and you're just pinching
the "good stuff" from the two liquids not mixing...

like i told one coworker: i rather enjoy listening
to music when i fall asleep...
but... but.
if it starts raining? and i'm about to fall asleep?
the music is turned off and i fall into a lullaby
of a symphony of necessary tears...
some people would tell me that there's no Bach in rain:
i.e. that there's no polyphony that can be ascribed
to rain: i **** right disagree...
that's like saying the sound of the sea is the same
as the sound a river generates or for that matter
a lake... or... a foot stepping into a puddle...
or the sound of a waterfall...

it's only a Monday and i'm already exited for the week ahead...
i couldn't wait for today because i knew i would
be recharging... father's lunch for tomorrow?
sweet peppers and sliced iceberg salad as the base...
on top? pancetta, strawberries,
goat's cheese... figs... with a balsamic glaze dressing...
tomorrow? Khedra didn't appreciate my ****** outgrowths...
she told me, strictly: your kissing is prickling me...
i agreed... my moustache is too long...
i ought to know better... it becomes half a bother
and a bother fully to boot when my moustache
"wets itself" when i take a sip of ms. amber's metaphorical
**** juices...
of course i'm still growing the FU MANCHU...
upon strict orders of the Turk... my love-patch needs
to be as long as my actual beard... and my beard needs
to hide my entire neck...

so tomorrow... i'm excited about visiting my Turkish barber
and getting a trim...
that's tomorrow...
Thursday? i'm off to the brothel to ****... simple as
1 + 1 = 2... i'll do the West Ham shift, finish at 10:30 and
then get my silly ***** wet...
maybe have a *******, maybe not...
i'm paying back a debt... i already stashed half of it
(£200) in my writing desk... i'll take out £200 more tomorrow...
a ******* Lynyrd Skynyrd sing-along
when you're debt free and only working on a debt-system
without any credit... i never understood
the point of the credit system...
why, would, you, use, credit?
why, spend, money, you, don't, have?
after working level 5 at Wembley... for that... tribute
concert for Taylor Hawkings... the managers asked me...
do you suffer from vertigo?!
which vertigo?!
the height vertigo?! didn't i tell you that i used
to be a roofer?! i must have...

height vertigo? yeah... i sometimes have this wild "idea"
in my head when i'm standing at a decent amount of height...
my legs start trembling, i start to grip some barrier...
some stable object... why? i start thinking about jumping
down! that's my height "vertigo": i start thinking that:
just perhaps i have a parachute or an exoskeleton!
although i have another "vertigo": it's a monetary "vertigo"...
i hate to be in debt... i never spend on credit...
either i have the money and spend it...
or i don't have the money and, ergo: don't spend it...
i abhor monetary "vertigos"...
     of course i think about money...
some people are geologists... some people are economists...
it's not that hard to confuse the two,
equating: pebbles = coins...
after all... what are coins? if not peanuts... certainly not
peanuts... then most certainly pebbles:
nuggets of copper with insignia:
"things" of "value" that are only allocated value
because someone said so:
like the usual critique of religion... it's all man-made...
sure... and economy is also man-made...
i abhor gold: i could never don a gold ring on my fingers...

sure... press some gold into a circle...
slap a pretty face like that of ol' Lizzy on it! hey presto!
"value"... otherwise, what?
mind you: a tickling on my legs...
it finally started raining... a spider was made into
a... a... banana-boat man...
escaping conflict of rain... i picked him up from
my tickled leg... put him on my hand...
dropped him off on my private library's shelf...
on... level 3... the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam...
i should get some flies for him at some point...

eh... spiders... flies... foxes... it's not like they're
exotica that certain women like...
i just figured it out... the men women choose to mate
with... oh! it's so certainly most necessary
for the men to have "sleeves"... yeah... at least one
hand covered in tattoos! women love men with
sleeves... the only "tattoos" are on my brain...
but i've witnessed the aesthetic of reproduction...
on the sly... the men with sleeves get to...
oh this one dude... i could "hear" his testosterone being slurped
up when he was giving the duties of daddy
with the buggy watching over his 2 week old babe...
or that guy two doors down...
mate! you're ******! why? you mother-in-law
is coming to see you 5 times a day! you're living about
20 metres from her! you're ****** mate!
me? i have ms. amber and philosophy for company!
i don't think i could talk to a woman: "privately"
outside a specified environment...
sure... women try... we talk on shifts...
if i have to be cold and exacting: exclusive...
hell... this one manager tried it with me today...
blah blah this... blah blah that...
so i replied to his "ha ha": fair enough...
i'll be more EXCLUSIVE next time...
      
                     i know that they employ complete air-heads...
retards... and they are licesened as security "guards":
i was telling my coworker: i'm really reluctant to get
the "baddge"... for (1) the hours are longer...
for (2) the pay is not much greater...
for (3) i only want to do this part-time,
don't get me wrong... it's great... but it's only great
when i say it's great... not when "management"
tells me it's "great"....
there's probably a point (4) and a point (5)...
but... ah... whatever...

hmm... it's back to Andrew Lloyd Webber
and the Cats musical lyrics,
coupled with the 13th Warrior transcript...
between
            Ahmed íbn Fahdlan íbn...
  and Herger... íbn this íbn that... name? IBN...
ha ha... that's like with cats...
Quorus "íbn" AZAEL "íbn" AZRAEL "íbn"
RYCERZ ZAKUTY-ŁEB....
   i.e. knight-mutton-headed...
a mutton-headed-"knight"...
                 chained-head... i too thought that
cats ought to be by the fireplace when it rains...
this one? prefers the company of the activities' of dogs...
i wish i owned a dog... instead?
i own a cat with an invisible leash...
he doesn't go far... i wish i owned a dog for the simple
reason that he might eat what i ate: letft-overs...

but i can't wait for Wednesday... the woman doing
my mother's nails called up: she's having trouble with her
1 year old toddler...
it was supposed to be a Saturday for my mother
getting her nails done...
i just sat there...
she can do Wednesday... but she has to drop off her
autistic older girl and come with "that" BAHOR
(crying baby) to a manicure and pedicure session...
but the baby is a RUGRAT... a little DEMON...
ooh! ooh!
me me! me me!
i just heard that there might be an issue...
i jumped in my head: hit the imaginary ceiling
then came back down (no glass)... i can do it!

come to think of it... cats are predictable creatures...
why? they're changeless...
but babies?! oh wow! it's like i'm back
in a chemistry lab... but instead of dealing
with potent substances... i'm dealing
with the "non-existence" of a soul!
i love it! i love it more than slapping prostitutes
riding me while they slap me in the face
and i slap them in the ***...
that's not true... the only girl that ever slapped me
in the face was Ilona... a Russian rich girl poor boy's wet-dream...
Khedra slapped me in the more appropriate place
while admiring my chest and stomach hair...
pinching my *******...

i'm going to have the time of my life on Wednesday...
i'll be baby-sitting! what's wrong with baby-sitting!
at worsst and at best she'll be pulling at my beard
and i'll be reversing the "talking parrot" sounds
of mimic... i'll be clucking... she'll be clucking back...
i'm too STEM orientated to think about life
subjectively... i'll be a male with a baby in my arms
on Wednesday... and a ******* in my arms
on a Thursday...

of course i'm going to take a picture!
i love babies... it will be so unlike petting a cat...
but it will be like petting a cat...
but unlike a cat: babies are forever unpredictable...
i'll slow down on drinking the "amber juice":
why? i want to have some fun with a baby...
i hope we can do whatever it necessary to
not relate... like the memory of my great-grandfather
in the kindergarten... him as a shadow
playing the big piano and me playing the toy piano...

MALVINA... that's the BAMBINO'S name...
the first girl i ever fell in love with:
i must have have been 6.... she was this albino blonde...
and her name was MALVINA...
this is going to be such a trip (if it happens)...
she's going to be pulling at my beard...
i'll be looking into her eyes
of disorientation...
thank god... she's not mine...
i can gladly keep watch of children that don't belong
to me... more willingly than you think...
i couldn't... some ideas need brushing up on...
i need to keep an eye on those...
but... from time to time?
if i get to become a baby-sitter?
i'll be a baby-sitter...
it's a welcome alternative to having to please
prostitutes...

hmph!
perhaps i'm an arrogant "****"... today i walked to
the local saying good-afternoon to one old woman...
saying another hello
to: hello Matthew... hello Matthew...
we grabbed each other's hands like in the 1950s
movies... when two Roman noblemen greet each
other... i.e. shook arms instead of hands...
we pulled the left hand on top of the hands
shaking: so? the four-hand-greeting...

there's something special about acquiring the "familial":
locus orientation that 20th century cosmopolitan
existentialism simply missed...
i can't wait for Wednesday... twice: thrice better than
sleeping with prostitutes... a sample of fatherhood...
i just... eh... what can you do?
it's not up to me... is it?
i can't exactly make women choose what's
to be chosen... if they chase after idiots.. idiotic times...
i came to one single mother once...
the one that "thought" she smelled alcohol on me...
i came back to her:
with homemade wine: cloudy... so? i chose
Franziskaner Hefe Weissbier...
you, girl, are going to drink my homemade:
cloudy wine... i'll drink...
a coorporaate cloudy beer with you...
single mum... her son's name? Friedrich...
i read his poem out-loud to him...
i also brought around a homemade banana loaf...
***** wasn't buying the myth...
oh well...  a guy comes round on a bicycle:
he has a banana loaf... homemade wine (cloudy)...

there's this much of love i am willing to give!
beyond that... ON YOUR, *******, WAY!
there's no point!
you've been hurt, i've been hurt... no!
i'm happy to just deal with a woman who needs
baby-sitting... doing my mother's nails...
needing someone to take take of her baby...
i'll do! i'll do! i'll do it!

it's ******* sad... for however much you want
to love: you're told to love less...
and by the same amount of "less":
you're asked to love "more"!

to love as yourself: you're never going to love
yourself as there might be a male "self"
to speak of: you ******* idiot!
you're a ******* toothpick in the waterfall!
i'm not saying "man-up": i'm just saying...
there are reality checks in place...
why do you think all the grandmas are *******
grandmas beginning and ending with?
where are the men?
in, a place, allocating, the most, bothered, men...
their... safeguard... from... interacting... with...
women....
me? i like to be the mediator...
that's me... between ******* and toddler...
eh... "ring baron" of a woman of: "beached whale"
value... what?!

that's Wednesday though... toddler Malvine is
here on Wednesday...
tomorrow's a Tuesday... that's a trip to Istanbul
for a beard trim...

i lost my beard-envy when i heard this one
Arab colt say: i love your beard, sir!
sir?! beard? i have a beard?!
i need to trim my mustache to kiss her in a way
she wants to be kissed...
but a beard?
i can't wait for Malvina... the toddler...
i want those:
chubby-bubbly-bub-bub-cheeks pressed
against mine... pretending to be a father
knowing that i'm not: a father...

i want cheese on top of the toast!
i want to keep all the Talmud secrets,
i want to keep the secrecies of babies
akin to the alignment of women.

p.s. and i have to agree with Bukowski in his
wisened post-mortem publication about
"going all the way"... there's no battle worth fighting
except with oneself... going all the way...
writing into the night... watching a lightning
storm: hearing no thunder...
thunder eluded me yesterday: there was only
lightning and then the glorious fall of rain...
in his own words:
and you will: you will be alone with the gods
and the nights will flame fire...

i am alone: i am not alone... i'm writing this post-scriptum
during the day because i felt that the night
was too beautiful to waste it upon completing
this "little effort"...

i just can't wait for tomorrow...
i'll take a picture of the two of us on the grass...
hopefully i'll get her mother's approval to jump
into the hot-tub with her... my little BAMBINO...

hmm... why is it that babies are as generic as old people?
when we're born we have universal needs...
when we're at the closure of our mortality:
it's all the same for either man and woman...
babies look alike: whether male or female,
the same is true for old people...
it's only in our prime that we seek out diverged
***-based needs...
men want particular things
as women want particular things...
men crave solace in aloneness...
women despise any talk of solance
equating aloneness with loneliness...

   what happened to the inquisitive old men
of antiquity akin to Socrates?
why have men not bothered to inquire about the intellect
when all their youthful toils of the body
have been completed? it's so stereotypical
of middle-aged men to assume that philosophy
books ought to be read in old age...
nope... that's completely untrue...
philosophy books ought to be read in a man's
20s... and by the time a man is ripened for old age...
he ought to be able to mix his early reading of philosophy
books (a priori) with his experience of life
(a posteriori)...

but it's not enough to simply say: logic... philosophy...
reason...
the Chinese Taoist sages covered pretty much everything
that modern science: finally caught up with...
what's ontology in Chinese philosophy? XING...
what's inherently me...
no... whatever the current trend is in western thinking:
implosive "western" & "thinking" i will perform the rite
of Pontius Pilate over... i will wash my hands clean
of the whole affair... this pseudo-intellectualism
this... GAME... of "GRAMMAR"...
there are far more interesting categories of words
than simply pronouns... nouns: for a start are more
interesting... how there's very little chance to catch
a diminutive noun in English... hey! that's a start!

you can't say beak (of a bird) in a way that beak:
allocated a diminutive suffix to the noun...
you have to say: little beak...
ah... but in other languages you can do just that!

dziób - beak... the diminutive being?
   dziobek... little beak...
                                             like i explained to this
older Turkish woman i was working a shift with
(god i fancied her, only later did i find out that she was
Turkish... that doe with fear in her eyes...
i still fancy her...) when she asked me about my accent...
i told her: to have an Essex accent you have to be born
in Essex... she lives in Kent and the Essex lads are
horrid to her... but i told her: since i'm bilingual...
there's this natural buffer zone for me to not have
a localised accent... i can have an generic: cosmopolitan
London accent... but even then... i'm a chameleon...

ha! to think that i didn't ask for permission to **** other
girls: Khedra actually demanded it!
she told me: you have to try all of them...
her ******* habbit and harking at non-existent phlegm
from her throat and nose...
well: good that i don't like *******...
enough of caffeine and nicotine is just about the same
for me...
the moment she mentioned having a *******
i was like... this second time ought to be better...
the first time i wasn't prepared...
i'll juggle the finances and take out more next time...
first time? with all that ****** changes i was sort
of disorientated...

but i can't wait for tomorrow... why?
i'll be babysitting! i'll have a BAMBINO to look after...
this gorgeous woman is coming over to
do my mother's nails...
she wouldn't have come because her bambino
is so much hassle these days...
as my mother was talking i was erratically nodding:
please bring her! please bring her!
i won't be drinking too much tonight...
i need to wake up at 7am and make an important
phone-call come 8am... then i'll wait...

seriously... that's the best dichotomy of: the life
of the other in your hands...
from slapping and biting prostitutes to then ensuring
my large hands take to tender care of a baby...
ooh! i'm sizzling with giggles and burps and farts
and stomach gurgling sensations...
i'll put on some vinyl record for her...
i'll focus a bright light on my little Frankenstein...
i'll bring down the word from on high into
her ears and then through her mouth
i'll try to steal the first word from her mother's
attempt at communication...
she already performed a mimic of me when i started clucking
my tongue... she clucked back:
the cluck of a horse buckling on cobblestones...

i'll have my little Frankenstein experiment...
i'll work around words and settle for onomatopoeias
first... i'll imitate sounds that humans are allowed
to make... it will be like going to a brothel:
but better... better still: it won't be my child...
it will be someone else's child...

come to think of it... it almost feels like that scene
from Game of Thrones... when a baby is brought before
the Night King... it will be such a welcome break from
the already idiosyncratic, unique character of my cats...
i can't change them: not that i can change a cat's ontology...
or for that matter being able to change Quarus...
ibn ****** ibn Azreal...
                 but i can travel to the moon and Antartica with
this baby... i can revel in leaving my first footprint
in the psyche of this child: not mine...
grant me the bare minimum of at least 3 hours
with this loose canon of an **** that will probably ****
the entire length of the Thames' river...

nothing to do today, cleaned the house yesterday,
there's still plenty of left-over pizza...
i worked the entire weekend... even yesterday
i didn't drink that much... but my body went into shutdown
relax mode... i went to bed at 12am and got up at 12pm...
Show Me Love crushed me...
walking around so many women fried my brain...
the moment one approached me for a handshake
and a wave another approached me to dance with her
then another approached me to "face the mirror"
and make me smile while doing a mirror-wriggling dance...
not even in the brothel did i see so much:
ripe, flesh...
by the end i was exhausted like a Solomon might...
3 years later... one for each night... and he still didn't
manage to make the rounds of his harem...
so? well... back in the day they didn't have ******...
so? he asked for a few willing men to be castrated...
he cut their ***** off and said: here... be their playthings...
otherwise female homosexuality will not allow me
their arousal upon my return!

well... sometimes a little bit of bitterness does seep into me,
it comes in, but: it does take off its shoes,
it asks me whether it can smoke a cigarette,
it does all the very formal things i except certain states
of mind to allow me to "challenge"... it only comes
when a woman ponders my state: why aren't you still
married?
i swollow the "pill" and in turn ponder...
hmm... why? why?                       hmm... why?
isn't it obvious?
                             i could swear it was obvious!

the best conversations i ever had were with myself:
on paper... akin to this...
the cost of living is not worth putting too many hours
into working...
working is far better than stealing...
but i'm also not going to follow the route of rich people:
how do rich people get rich?
through loop holes that poor people can't navigate...
like my neighbour (who killed my cat)
she only own an off-license shop...
   but she... blah blah... she had three "bulgaries"
in the past 4 years... some that happened at noon...
some in the middle of the night: me? i'm usually perched on
my windowsill until 4am... i saw jack-****...
evidently: a scam...
                  
born into a Catholicism: yet i have retained all the Protestant
traits of honesty... even i once exclaimed
that England "used" to be a high-trust society...
it still might be: but in London you better have
double-standards... esp. with the Somalis taking breaks
on shifts... some you can oil-up toward your
persuasions about work by managing to
give them free food... otherwise... Sisyphus at his toil...

until tomorrow Malvina... until tomorrow my temp.
joy of a Bambino.

after drinking paulaner münschen's
hefe-weißbier,
   even i have to concede to a curiosity,
as any frenchman drinking
Bulgarian, Hungarian or Moldovan
wine... outright Cindarella propaganda
of the East,  these eastern feral lands,
with only 100 years of independence
and our own shared secrets and national
shambles...
            panicz, szlachta i sejmiki,
                doesn't matter to the beer tourist,
to the beer conneisour...
    my take on Armenia: fine beer...
    notably the fresh kilikia (կիլիկիա)
beer of Յերեվեն (Yereven)...
          and then back into listening
to my age bracket commentators
     immersed in politics...
                    ever so often i find myself
imagining myself dutifuly polishing
a pair of marschstiefelß...
             as ever, shame the current zeitgeist
and all subsequent years begin
in a place which might look
pale by comparison to the Mongolian
marvel of Baghdad... i.e. that infamous
pyramid of skulls...
                           ****,
sometimes wonder about those lucky
******* who had the names of their
first girlfriends tattooed onto the skin,
later to have to get a second tattooing
over...
             your generic Shane,
John, or James hailing from a *******
like Harlow, Essex;
no amount of eraser will wipe clean
a psyche tattoo...
                                that's me,
suckling at     մատկա րոսյձա's ****.

what's not a probably: Carslberg is the probably
of beers... budweiser is a something of
      könig, of biere... but... hardly:
fermenting rice... mongrel-upkeep with the
wheat, the bait: of barley... let us forget the hops...
the 'ops... zutaten:
           wasser - weizemalz... gerstemalz... hefe...
     hopfenextrakt... even if the irish have:
and weave their stout: pint of... mcguinness...
the irish can cabbie on home...
                                    franziskaner weissbier...
   even within the confines of the latin script...
exceptions have to be made... notably...
the germanic Z... and most notably the ß:
and... should -ss be ushered in...
                           {weißbier} contra the irish stout...
schwarzbier... zzz: no snoozing...
    harpsicord: somewhere? anywhere? now?!
central european: "c"...
no... not a cedilla and a greek ς-gma...
     ч: chess... riddle me!
                 чeß чeß чeß чeß чeß чeß чeß...
do the germans even use a snooZe?
it's still in cyrillic... цeit: nach sein...
                 franцiskaner weißbier...
whole lot of "confusion":
    the germans do not, really...
exactly have a "z":   цu: zo'oh... цentral:
              the "conversation" is still
concerning: beer... like the english...
well... c is sometimes a k...
but... the c is also sometimes a konçerning...
to no avail:
          a чeap phraße - it's not a greek
sigma or a cedilla disguising itself as one...
sharp german: s und z...
point being... to discourage:
                 z from "c" and цeit... sharp wit...
                      franцiskaner weißbier?
the only beer in the world... well: the weißbier -
                                                      anno. 1363...
and the irish stout: schwarцbier...
- the german caron š: sch-
and the east german: ich... which is...
i-sch... well... a mix-up...
sch- is a mingling mongrel of:
                     š + ś - which ranges as far north
                        of: scandinavia might allow...        
so much for me solving crosswords...
no wonder... little wonder: more, perhaps...
as to why i hardly: feign... or bother... myself...
that two languages: are entrenched...
   and a third and a fourth comes along...
a fifth... crossword puzzles are for
mono-lingual folk... no disrespected...
but by the time it would take me to learn
the joy of crosswords...
i would have to pass through an iron
maiden of hardship... in unlearning a language
i call my own: learned: acquired:
"stolen"... nothing organic about it...
             nothing: native...
       it's better that way...
         little wonder then: concerning
the topic of loan words...

here's one:
      that angry dog tag-line...
better in greek:
      
                  αρσoνιστ!
                         μεινε μακρια...

the beast is always: apparently "tamed"...
because ol' lizzie spoke to me...
and ol' charlie too...
but the average englishman / woman
has no... *******... concept...
of private property...

white smoke... rising... from burning...
pure organic material...
since... the recycling centers are somewhat
congested / closed...
asthma is a problem: "problem"
for a person... smiling trigger happy...
no token 'ere...
    and because it's: back to your cages!
because: katherine! and a karen!
sayz so!
struck with blind caress of obedience
                                    for the "civic duties"...
perhaps i'm drunk... perhaps i'm not...
beside the point...
   i'm fuming like a chimney...
we used to play nice...
     we played nice... giggles and
warlords...
have us a tame 'ere ****** on a noose...
have us 'ere... n'ah... i'll wake up early
tomorrow morn and fish out a...
complete and utter: ******!